Wanted (Most Wanted 1)

I wanted to escape myself, but there was nowhere else to go and no one else to be.

And I couldn't do any of that anyway, because Evan caught my arm and jerked me violently back to him. Then he clutched my other arm, as well. He held me there, his hands tight on my upper arms, as I battled down the urge to spit in his face.

"No," he said. And then more forcefully, "Goddammit, Angie, no."

I tried to shake free, but he held me tight. My arms, I was certain, would be bruised by morning.

"That is not why I'm here." The ferocity in his voice slashed over me. "I'm here because I want you, dammit. Not because I want something from you."

I wanted to believe it--I so desperately wanted to believe it--and yet how could I? I shook my head. "Bullshit, Evan. You promised my uncle that you wouldn't do this. And you were damn sure willing to keep that promise--until you realized that I inherited the notebook." I saw him flinch and knew that I'd struck a sound blow. "Kevin was right," I said. "You're only interested in yourself."

"Do not--do not--bring that bastard into this conversation."

"I'm not even going to have this conversation," I said wearily. "Just get the hell out."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until you listen to me."

"I said to get out. I'm not kidding. Do you know how many panic buttons are hidden in this apartment? If you think I won't push one--"

He tightened his grip on my arms, and I remembered the man I'd seen in the alley. The man who had so efficiently and ruthlessly pressed a knife to another man's throat.

The truth was, unless he let me, I couldn't push any button at all. I couldn't run. I couldn't call for help. I could do nothing but submit. And though I knew that empirically I should be afraid, I wasn't. I was pissed off, sure, but I wasn't afraid of this man. Not even a little.

"Push them all," he said gently. "Kick me out, scream for Peterson. Do whatever the hell you have to. But listen to me first."

I glared at him.

"Please," he said, but it was his tone more than the plea that melted me.

"All right," I whispered. "Talk."

He released my arms, then took a step backward. "I need to show you something. Come with me."

I followed, feeling lost and defeated and just wanting to get this over with. In the living room, he went to the briefcase he'd dropped beside the couch. He bent down, opened it, and pulled out a letter. "Recognize it?"

I shook my head. "Should I?"

"Alan gave it to me. It's the letter Jahn left for me."

"Oh." I wanted to ask what the hell that letter had to do with anything, but I kept my mouth shut. Obviously that's where we were heading, and Evan was going to get there on his own sweet time.

He handed it to me. "Read it."

I took it tentatively, feeling strangely vulnerable.

It took me a second to get the letter out of the envelope. My hands were actually shaking. I didn't yet know what Jahn had said in this note, but I knew that it was important. And, somehow, it affected me.

I unfolded the paper and read the words written in Jahn's familiar scrawl: I had my reasons.

I read it again, then looked up at Evan. "What does that mean?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "It means he's not holding me to my promise to stay away from you. What I don't understand is why."

His words seemed to ricochet through my mind. "But--wait. Where does it say that? How do you know?"

"I know," Evan said.

"How?" I repeated.

He turned so that his back was to me and moved toward the wall of windows and the gray of the lake and sky. "Because that's what it has to mean."

I shook my head in confusion. "I don't get this at all."

He turned to me, capturing me in the wild gray of his eyes. "That's what it has to mean, because anything else is unacceptable. I was fine until I touched you, Angie. Fine until we crossed that line. But now that I've felt your skin against mine--now that I've tasted you--there is no way I can keep that promise. So that is what Jahn's note has to mean. It's a Get Out of Jail Free card, sweetheart. And I took it--took you--because I wanted you. It has nothing to do with the goddamn notebook."

"Oh."

I sank down to sit on the couch as I tried to organize my thoughts. At the moment, I didn't exist as a rational being. I was only emotion, and that emotion was joy.

Joy, yes. But confusion, too. "But at Destiny--you put me off. I mean, not only did you put me off, but you put on that whole show with that redhead."

I heard the jealousy in my voice, and from the way the corner of his lip twitched, I knew he heard it, too. "I don't get involved with the girls at the club," he said, as my body sagged with relief.

"Never?"

"I believe I've mentioned that I have a code. And not sleeping with my employees is high up on my list."

"Does that little redhead realize that?" I asked cattily, then immediately wished I could pull back my words when Evan chuckled.

"Careful," he said. "Green isn't your best color."

"Dammit, Evan, I--"

"Hush." He moved to sit beside me, then gently stroked my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear. "Christy was putting on a show. For your benefit, actually, though she's done it before. Sometimes I find it beneficial for colleagues to have a certain impression of me."

"And she knows it's all a show?"

"She does," he said, then gently kissed the tip of my nose. "And so does Maria."

"Who's Maria?"

"Her lover."

"Oh." I grinned. "Oh," I repeated as what he said sank in. But then I thought about it more, and had to press. "I still don't understand why you did that. The whole show to turn me off. All the fighting to push me away. You'd read the letter by then. You had your Get Out of Jail Free card."

"I know," he said. He took my hand and idly traced my fingers with his. "I'm still a bad bet, Angie, and for all the same reasons."

"You haven't told me those reasons."

"No. I haven't. And I don't intend to."

I eyed him, certain that I knew. This was all tied up with Kevin's allegations. He was involved in some sort of criminal shit, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was curious--and intrigued. There was sweet temptation in the danger, and I licked my lips, wondering if I should press the point. If I should ask him what he was mixed up in. If I should press for details about his crimes, both now and five years ago. But I kept my mouth shut. That kind of talk might push him away--and I was selfish enough not to want to go there. I wanted the reality of the man in my bed, and the fantasy of his wild and dangerous side was just an added perk.

"If you're such a bad bet," I said instead, "then why did you give in at all?"

He brushed his lips over mine. "You said it yourself. No commitment, no future. Just you and me and this one weekend. Dammit, Angie, do you have any idea how long I've fought the urge to touch you? For that matter, do you have any idea how close I came to breaking my word after that damned alley? I meant what I said--you're my goddamned Kryptonite, and you have totally destroyed all my defenses."

His words crashed over me, tempting me even as he tethered me. Didn't I already know this was a man I could let go with--a man who unleashed a wildness in me that didn't involve fast cars or petty theft. With Evan, I felt free to be Lina again, even though Angie was the woman I needed to be. The woman I was going to have to be starting in three short weeks. Once I stepped into the world of politics, I needed to be squeaky clean because anything else could cost my father his career, not to mention his reputation.

This was my last chance. To let go. To fly. To have this man that I craved.

Just you and me and this one weekend.

It sounded so perfect. So tempting.

And too damn short.

I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. Because the truth was, I wanted more than this one night with Evan. I wanted a connection. I wanted the time we had left to be real and solid and shining.

I needed him, and I trusted him, but I was afraid that my earlier frenzied accusation about him trying to snatch the Creature Notebook had left a shadow looming between us. And the only way I could think of to banish that dark, was to explain exactly why Jahn had given the notebook to me in the first place.

"Earlier this year," I began. "When they rushed Jahn into surgery, he didn't wake up when they expected him to--nothing seemed to go right. It was horrible."